


Shall We Fondue?

by iluvaqt



Series: DC & Marvel: Nightingale [19]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Smallville
Genre: Body Paint, F/M, Fondue, Memories, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:31:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluvaqt/pseuds/iluvaqt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe learns the fondue story, and decides to prove Bucky wrong. Fondue can be exactly what Steve thought it meant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shall We Fondue?

**Previously. New Brunswick, Canada**

Memories from before the war at first are so few and far between. Sometimes it seems like the James ‘Bucky’ Barnes part of his life are a dream. A plausible but unbelievable fantasy. The only real tangible link for it to be a reality, his reality, is Steve. And by extension, his formidable yet unassuming life partner. Even though, technically, she is as much a part of his past a Steve. If he thinks about that too hard, it brings on the mother of all migraines. He tries not to force it, or dwell on it. He accepts that they’re both important to him. In different ways. And it helps that they’re together, so he doesn’t have to even think about one over the other. Neither of them would ever expect it of him either.

Steve was the catalyst for the emergence of Bucky Barnes - lost war hero.

Hydra might have thought they were killing two birds with one stone. Nicholas J. Fury and Steven J. Rogers, the only real threat left to oppose their quest for global domination.

They had underestimated how powerful a bond of brotherhood could be. They underestimated how self sacrificing Steve was. It wasn’t his physical strength that made Steve formidable. It wasn’t even the enhancements; advanced cognitive function, speed, agility and super charged metabolism. His gifts weren’t what made him patriotic, the Star-Spangled symbol of America’s might and power. It was his heart.

They had also underestimated how much Bucky Barnes loved that hero. Not the super soldier, but the kid from Brooklyn; the sickly, weak, bullied kid who just never knew when to quit. The friend he’d bravely gone to war alone for - just a scared young man himself, barely in his twenties. He’d worn the uniform with pride because if every strong, healthy man like him went, it meant that Steve wouldn’t have to. If he could serve and help win the war quickly, maybe it would keep that persistent, stubborn rascal from duping some admittance clerk into passing him. And getting shipped off to the front lines. If there was anything he was more afraid of than dying, it was losing Steve or Becca. They're the only family he had left.

So Hydra fouled up their own plan when they sent him after Steve. Because just one word, triggered a horde of memories. The serum might have changed his body, filled out his face but it had never changed his voice.

_“Bucky?”_

One word. Just a nickname. One his sister never liked. And all of a sudden the man he was fighting became someone else. He had hesitated. He’d hesitated in his mission and that hesitation had left him vulnerable to attack. Something Steve’s back up had taken advantage of to keep them alive.

After that no amount of drugs, torture or brainwashing, would make him lose himself completely again. He had something stronger than their torture and indoctrination to cling to. He remembered the bond of brotherhood that he had believed lost to him decades ago.

Zola had taunted him with Steve’s death when he first work up to find the monstrosity they’d given him for an arm. Red Skull killed Captain America. No one was coming to his rescue. Having no memories except for a hollow ache in his chest at those sneered words that he couldn’t explain, he’d wrecked his brain to make sense of the pain he didn’t understand. He had listened to the sinister scientist press on, telling him that in the eyes of the world, Captain America and his favorite sidekick Bucky are dead. And in time, they would be forgotten. Hydra would rise to power again. It always would. For they were many. Cut off one head, many more rise to take its place. And their plan had been to use him, their version of an enhanced soldier to help further their cause.

Angel/Chloe had always called him James but something about the name Bucky, prickled at his consciousness. With the growing tightness in his chest, coupled with a sinking despair he knew that the doctor, while clearly a sycophant, was telling the truth. There was the only one person who knew he was alive, that he’d survived the icy crevasse and because she had been a captive too, he knew the world would soon forget about him.

On that bridge, one word had prompted flashes of short blonde hair, sass and a half smile came to his mind’s eye. A once thin pale face morphed into a strong jaw and familiar eyes under a ridiculous prop helmet. This was Steve. And they said Steve was dead.

Their captive again he thought he was strong enough to fight back. He thought he could resist and find a way to get free. But even without all of his memories he hadn’t factored how much of the fight in him was driven by the need to keep his best friend alive. To watch his back, keep him safe and bring him home. Because the reckless jerk certainly didn’t know how to keep his own ass out of a fire. Without Steve, he was lost. And as the weeks and months passed, he lost more and more of his willful independence and fighting stubbornness until nothing but a shell remained. He couldn’t fight them, he couldn’t even keep his rescuer safe. When she disappeared, he gave up resisting. And when he gave up, the few shadowy memories he had were lost altogether.

One day he just woke up and blinked at the room he was in, having no idea how he got there or who he was. And that’s when the new mission began. Also long as he followed orders, they treated him relatively well. When he didn’t, it was unimaginable pain and isolation. He wasn’t sure what followed. His memories were always disjointed and confusing. There were flashes. Always painful. Either he was the one receiving the pain or he was the one inflicting it. Both made him sick to the core and if he’d eaten anything, it soon found itself expelled from his stomach.

So any memory prior to his icy fall was treasured like a fond, half remembered dream. And the expectant, hopeful look on Steve’s face anytime he shared something from their past was an expression that warmed him to his bones. It gave him hope. It made him believe that he wasn’t beyond saving. That there was good in him. Good worth fighting for.

So when he blurted out a fun filled drinking night in Italy, that Stark had been in rare appearance for - the man rarely left his workshop - he hadn’t really given it further thought on the extended impact that anecdote might have.

“Steve never was much good at talking to dames. The prettier they were the worse he’d suffer foot in mouth disease. Forget how he looked, I made sure to pick girls with smarts who weren’t hung up on muscles but Steve could say two words and I’d be wondering why I bothered. You know what he said to Carter once? Pretty much told her she didn’t belong in the SSR, she was a beautiful woman…”

He watched Chloe smack Steve’s arm and his best friend blush two shades of red. “You did not! Steve!” she admonished with a look of surprised indignation.

“But that’s not the best one. His round about way of asking if she was spoken for was, ‘I thought you and Howard? Do you two… are you know… Fondue?”

Sam goggled at the blond that now had his face buried in his hands, groaning loudly in protest.

“Buck, come on! I didn’t know what fondue was. And Howard was like a dame magnet, cashed up to the eyes and good looking, he and Peg had this real comfortable rapport going. I thought… damn it, I didn’t know any better…”

“It’s like I try for nothing. Tried to teach him everything I knew. Only had to meet her once to know she was into him. The second time was just to make sure it wasn’t just the muscles and the uniform. Steve, did Carter ever strike you as the type to be impressed by money or a pretty face? I mean the one time I crash and burn you were so busy watching Carter, you didn’t even notice how she brushed me off. Totally without a clue, this guy.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chloe said, running her fingers through Steve’s hair with a saucy smile. “He’s quite insightful in my honest opinion.”

Bucky had to roll his eyes. Of course she would say that. Fools in love, the pair of them. And even if he was a touch jealous, he couldn’t be happier for them both.

::: ::: :::

**Sully-Rogers townhouse, Brooklyn**

It was months on and Steve forgot all about that night they’d lounged around eating nacho chips and drinking Canadian beer, while they swapped memories of youthful adventures.

Candlelight flickered from every step leading up from the hall passageway.

His first thought when he entered the darkened and quiet townhouse was a feeling of churning nerves. He’d expected plenty of light and Chloe waiting for him. He had been on edge and strung out from the moment Bucky had decided to turn himself over. Right now his best friend was in secure holding in an undisclosed S.H.I.E.L.D facility. He knew it was for Bucky’s own safety that he remain there while the Supreme Court deliberated his case but his protective instincts and doubts were in overdrive and warring constantly with his sliver of faith in the evidence they were counting on to secure Bucky’s freedom. It was only the confidence Chloe displayed and her meticulous nature and planning that had him sitting on his hands for now. First sign of anything suspicious or twigged his sense for danger and injustice and the gloves were off. And he knew Chloe and Natasha would back him up in a heartbeat.

For the moment this wasn’t the kind of battle he could fight with his fists or his shield. Chloe had done all she could to gather evidence and testimony from witnesses and from those still living that had been directly responsible for Bucky’s captivity and brainwashing. They had to believe that Bucky would be cleared of the charges against him. But even if he wasn’t, Steve knew they weren’t about to abandon him. Not ever.

Bare feet descending the steps from above made him pause. He dropped his overnight bag on the floor and felt his pulse quicken. He knew those petite toes attached to milky smooth feet anywhere.

His eyes drifted up her shapely, ivory toned bare legs to the very short hem of her crimson kimono wrap.

Steve gulped and let his eyes continue upward as she kept descending those stairs edging closer to him, taking the steps one at a time. The candlelight bathed her skin and cast very enticing shadows off her wonderful curves.

“Hey there, Husband.” She speared a strawberry from the pile on the plate she was holding and dipped it into a tiny pot, also on the plate. Her smile was playful and teasing as she let her gaze drift over him just as he had her. “What do you say you and I do a little fondue?”

Steve felt his throat close over. He felt his palms sweat. He could have both hugged and punched Bucky for ever bringing up that awful faux pas he’d made with Peggy. But right now he’d settle for hugging him. He spared a thought for his friend and pleaded to anyone who might be listening that Maria was right, and Bucky was being treated well before he crossed the distance to Chloe and swept her into his arms.

Chloe fed him the chocolate strawberry and kissed his cheek. “I don’t know if anyone ever showed you, but fondue can be a form of adult entertainment.”

Her familiar scent enveloping his senses, his hands automatically slid to her hips dragging her flush against him. The wink she gave him had him warming all the way to his toes and his pants grew unbearably tight. “Considering I can feel how little you’re wearing, darlin’, I don’t doubt that.”

Chloe put the fork prong back on the plate and took his hand. She urged him to follow her back up stairs with a soft tug. “For the rest of this educational adventure, you need less clothes on and we need a flat comfortable surface.”

“For you, honey. You’ve got a captive study.”

In their bedroom, Chloe set the dish on the bedside table and as soon as her hands were free, Steve put his arms around her and kissed her.

Her hands in his short hair and her sweet lips on his, he plundered her mouth deeply with his tongue and swept her flush against his hard body with his hands on her bottom.

She broke away, her lipstick gone and breathing sharp as she worked the buttons on his uniform. “You make me seriously hot for you dressed like this. Give me a man in uniform instead of a spandex costume any day of the week.”

Steve unbuckled his belt and slipped it from his pant loops, tossing it over the back of the nearby armchair. “Must be all that military history in the family tree. Runs in your blood, the call to serve or support the ones who do. But for the record, the Cap suit is not spandex.”

Chloe loosened then unthreaded his tie and kissed each spot of skin she exposed with every button she freed on his shirt. “Always so warm. Does my cold touch ever bother you?”  
She had always run much colder than him. Her heart rate was slow and steady. She had a really low resting heart rate like a marathon runner. She shrugged it off once as her heart’s natural defence. A preservation tactic since it didn’t seem inclined to give out anytime soon. Chloe always made light over her mutation but he counted it as a gift. He would have lost her several times over if it wasn’t for that gift of healing. As a result of her slow heartbeat, her skin was always cool.

“Your touch is my balm. Especially on a hot day.”

Chloe snorted and Steve had to grin widely knowing immediately where her thoughts had gone, but his smile turned slack with a groan tearing from his throat when she opened his pants and cupped him through his drawers.

“Nice for you maybe. You can keep your octopus furnace limbs to yourself when the Fahrenheit climbs past 80.”

“You don’t play fair, wife,” he said when he stood naked in front of her while she was still dressed in her robe.

“I know you, remember? How long have we been married? We won’t get to the fondue if I take this off.”

“Fondue can wait.”

Steve had the sash loosened in a second and pushed his hands between the folds, he had the fabric in a pool at her feet in the blink of an eye. As always, he stood still and barely took a breath as his eyes moved over her nakedness. Many candles lighting the room, cast a soft glow and her skin appeared more golden than it’s usual pale cream. His palms itched to hold her and went to his second favorite curves with little urging when she pulled his hands up to her body. 

They made love, their bodies meeting, the chocolate smearing between them.

“You’re a terrible canvas,” she playfully scolded him, her voice unsteady. It revealed to him that she wasn’t as focused and unaffected as she appeared to be.

When they fell to the side together, spent and blissful, and Chloe felt his sweat dotted brow against her shoulder, her fingers carding gently through his hair, massaging his head, Steve let out a long breath that caused the fine hairs on her back to raise. The sight of the smooth, slightly freckled expanse of creamy flesh made an idea bloom in his mind’s eye that certainly fit the theme she originally lured him with.

It helped a lot that Chloe wasn’t very ticklish. He had paint on her before with brushes and sponges. She could sit for hours in his window seat, the floor to ceiling window giving him plenty of natural light to work with. It faced the dense high hedged, secured back garden of their townhouse so there was never any danger of interlopers. After he painted her, he liked to draw her and his finished art in his sketchbook. His Chloe sketchbook was for his eyes only and he kept it in the back of their closet at the bottom of his gun lock box when he wasn’t drawing in it.

He ran his fingertips over his planned canvas and felt her shiver in anticipation. He pressed a kiss against her skin and reached for the drawer where he kept his art supplies. He drew out a new nylon brush to work with. He wondered if he should try something tribal themed, Chloe could definitely pull of a warrior princess look or perhaps he’d working with shading using chocolate, and her naturally pale skin as his light tone.

For the rest of the evening, things got very messy and giggly (turns out when he used his tongue, instead of a brush, she was a little ticklish), normally disorder and soiled items made him cringe inwardly and itch to right the matter. He found this was his exception. The playfulness, not to mention the decadence and intimacy meant the last thing on his mind was the mess. The clean up of his human canvas was a fantastic chore, if it should even be described as such. He loved it so much he cleaned her twice. The second time making so much mess that they decided the only way to resolve the issue was to shower.

The shower took so long that the hot water ran out, due to their distraction from proper cleaning. He tried to be thorough in which his gentle attention turned out to be overstimulating and his bossy wife (He’d never complain, as he loved it. She was the only one he trusted not to abuse her power) pushed him down to fix the problem he’d created. Of course, never one to leave scales unbalanced, or him aching hard. She repaid the favor, by which time the hot water had run out. They made short work of a cold shower to clean up.

With Chloe shivering even in her fluffy terry cloth robe and cuddled against his chest, one look at the chocolate covered sheets and they decided that they’d sleep in the guest room. Neither of them felt up to cleaning up the chocolate - among other things - on the bed. All the bedding needed to be stripped and changed.

With Chloe curled against his chest, tucked under his arm. Her long blonde hair tickling his chin, he felt his emotions bubbling close to the surface. His eyes smarted and if the sides of his face were wet, he’d blame it on perspiration.

He wondered what he’d done to deserve the joy in his life. The more he reflected on it, the more he realized that it wasn’t anything he’d done. It was all a gift.

A gracious gift he didn’t really deserve but he had anyway. He had a beautiful loving wife, Bucky was alive and free from Hydra, and they both had loyal and supportive friends. He decided to count his blessings and just be grateful. To stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. To stop worrying about whether everything was a test.

Chloe tried to share with him more than once since their return that there was no way on Earth that he could ever control anything. Not really. The only real choice was whether he would chose to be happy, come what may and have faith. Or spend all of his days worrying about all the things he could never hope to fix.

It was difficult to process. Having spent most of his life believing he was the one with the power to make decisions and fight for change. He always wondered what he would do if he hung up the shield, but little by little he was seeing that it wasn’t such an unimaginable future after all.


End file.
